Little Boy Lost
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: Dad left for a hunt 3 weeks ago and hasn't returned. Now they're out of food and Dean doesn't know what to do. He tries to be strong for Sammy and look after him, but the reality is, Dean's just a scared 10 year old kid being forced to grow up too soon.
1. Chapter 1

A/N I know what you're thinking. I should update my other stories before posting a new one. Fair enough. A new chapter of "Lean on Me" and "Man Comes Around" should be up in the next few days. In the meantime, I was attacked by an army of plot bunnies. Seemed my muse was demanding a weechester fic and this one will not leave me alone. This one is based on my E/O drabble for Alert. I dedicate this one to all the weechester fans and all the E/O players and E/O fans.

Dean is 10 in this one and Sammy is 6. I haven't been around kids much since I was, well since I was a kid, so I hope I do little Dean and little Sammy justice.

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are sadly not mine.

Warning: Angst ahead. And on that note, enjoy!

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**Little Boy Lost**

**by Deana W.**

His stomach was growling. Glancing behind him at Sammy who was happily eating his Chef Boyardee while watching TV Dean smiled warmly at his little brother so he couldn't see the worry in his eyes. When he turned to look out the window at the pouring rain, he frowned, biting his lip in indecision. It's been three weeks since Dad left. Three weeks. That was a long time—especially considering Dad said he'd only be a few days at most.

Still, looking out the window he watched the cars pass by, waiting, hoping that the next car to pull into the hotel parking lot would be the impala. Every night for the last two weeks he had been keeping vigil by the window, wondering what he should do. He usually waited to keep watch until after Sammy had gone to sleep because he didn't want to worry the kid but today though he couldn't help it. It had been _three weeks_, what if something happened? What if Dad wasn't coming back? Should he grab Sammy and go? But where would they go and how would they get there? He supposed they'd go to Bobby's but he hadn't been able to get a hold of him, the number dad had given him was out of service.

It had been three weeks and now they were officially out of food after opening the last can of spaghetti-o's. He had cooked it all on the little stove, put half in a bowl for Sammy and put the rest in the fridge so his little brother could have some tomorrow. Other than half a loaf of moldy bread in which Dean picked off the bad spots before eating it himself, that was it.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, wiping his snotty nose with his sleeve, "What'cha doing?"

"Watching the storm," Dean lied with a shrug, "'s cool."

"Where's your supper?" Sam inquired with a sniffle, putting his bowl on the table and padding over to the window to watch with him. He climbed into his big brother's lap and looked out the window, craning his neck to get a better view of the angry clouds in the sky.

At six, Sammy was starting to get too big to sit in Dean's lap, but Dean didn't mind so he wrapped his arm around his chest and watched out the window with him, "I'm not hungry, I'll eat it later," he lied.

Sammy looked at him curiously for a moment but shrugged and turned his head to look out the window again, accepting his excuse. After a few minutes of silence, save the distant thunder, Sammy asked, "When's daddy coming home?"

"Soon."

"That's what you said last week."

"Yeah, but he got delayed, he called and said he'd be late, work was taking him longer than he thought," Dean winced at the endless string of lies he was telling his little brother, but he couldn't tell him the truth—Sammy was scared as it was, there was no need to make it worse. He was just glad that Sam's back was to Dean so he couldn't see the deception and worry in his face.

"When did he call? I wanted to talk to him too!"

"You had already gone to bed," Dean shrugged.

"Can I stay up late so if he calls again I could talk to him?"

"Sorry Sammy but you can't. Dad would be mad if he knew I let you stay up, you know that," Dean replied, glad he could finally give him a truthful answer. His stomach growled again. "Besides, you're still getting over your cold, so you need to rest. Don't want to get sick again do you?"

"But I want to talk to dad!"

"I know, but I don't know when he'll call again," Dean placated, _Please call Dad, I don't know what to do…_ "But he told me to tell you that he misses you and he loves you very much and wishes he could be here and he hates having to leave us and will be home as soon as he can."

"If he doesn't want to leave us, then why does he?"

"Because he has to, it's his job."

"Why?"

"People need his help, so he helps them. It's what he does."

"But I need him too."

"No you don't. I mean, you got me, right?"

Sammy grinned climbed out of his lap and turned to face him, "Yeah."

"And I got you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then we're good. Dad knows that, that's why he knows we'll be OK when he goes to help other people who need him more. Dad will be back soon," Dean was almost willing to believe his own lie as he smiled at his brother, straightened his posture and erased the worry from his eyes to make it more convincing.

"I hope so," Sammy sighed, shuffling back to watch more TV.

Echoing his sigh Dean rose from his chair, feeling weak with hunger. He followed his brother, eying his bowl. There were a few bites left so he motioned towards the bowl, "You done with this?"

Sam shrugged, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Dean snatched the bowl and carried it over to the kitchenette and finished the last few bites, devouring it greedily, licking the bowl once he was sure Sammy wasn't looking. He was just too hungry. He had stopped serving himself supper once he realized that they were almost out of food and could very likely run out before dad came home. Instead he chose to eat whatever Sammy left on his plate and if there was enough for two servings he ate a few bites and put the rest in the fridge to stretch it out some. Sammy was getting over a cold, so he needed it more than Dean did.

Sammy's cold was another reason why the food issue was a problem. Dad had given Dean some money, just in case and he spent most of it on cold and cough medicine, Kleenex, orange juice and whatever else Sammy needed to get better. There wasn't much left.

If he were bigger and older, Dean figured he could try his hand at hustling. At ten he was already a good pool player, dad was teaching him and they played every chance they got, but good enough to hustle? Besides, who'd make bets against a kid? And he was too little to go into the places where Dad hustled anyway. He figured he could try to make some money and get a job, but he didn't want to leave Sammy alone for too long and anyway, where in this nothing town could he possibly find a place that would hire a ten-year old kid? Still, he needed to do something soon, this couldn't go on much longer.

"Stop picking your nose, Sammy," Dean chided when he checked on his brother.

"I wasn't!" Sammy protested, even as he wiped the big yellow-green booger off his finger and onto his pants.

Dean flopped onto the couch with him, "You're so gross." He put his hand on his brother's forehead, relieved to feel that it was still cool. A couple of days ago he had a nasty fever that scared the heck out of Dean, and even though it had broken without any complications he still worried that it would come back. "How you feelin' squirt?"

Sammy batted Dean's hand away indignantly, "Fine Deanie, stop worrying!"

"Can't afford for you to get sick again," Dean pointed out.

"Well, I'm better now," Sammy grinned and to prove his point, a mischievous smirk crossed his lips and he suddenly smacked his brother with his pillow, giggling.

Dean blocked the blow at the last second, grinning himself, "Oh you are so dead!" Without a pillow to defend himself with, he lunged, ducking away from another swing of the pillow to launch at his brother, tackling him gently and started to tickle him.

"Ahh! Dean! Stop it!"

"I'm the tickle monster!" he declared, knowing exactly where to tickle him.

"No! No! No!" Sammy laughed, dropping the pillow and kicking Dean away. Dean dodged the kicks and kept tickling him, then backed off long enough to give Sammy the chance to retaliate.

And retaliate he did as he tackled Dean with surprising ease. He fell back, but instead of landing on his end of the couch he fell off the couch completely, banging his head on the coffee table on the way down. "Ow!" he cried, throwing his hand to his head, "Sammy! Stop it!"

Sammy continued to tickle him for a couple of seconds before it registered that Dean wasn't playing anymore. "Dean? You OK?"

He winced as he moved his hand and saw blood on his fingers, but nodded, "'M OK." It really wasn't too bad, not a lot of blood. It just mostly took him by surprise because it wasn't like him to lose his balance like that and get bested by his six-year-old brother so quickly, even if he was letting his little brother win. Sammy normally had to put a lot of effort in to tackle Dean, and Dean usually still had enough control to not fall off the damn couch. His stomach growled again and for just a moment he felt dizzy, so he rested his head on the floor and closed his eyes until the room decided to stop spinning. He probably kept them closed a little too long because a few seconds later…

"Dean! Open your eyes!"

"I'm fine Sammy, jeez," Dean waved him off and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"I was 'fraid you went to sleep and that I hurt you bad."

Dean chuckled, "You? Knock _me_ out? Keep dreaming squirt!"

Sam relaxed a little and then offered Dean his hand and helped him to his feet. Dean swayed a little bit, and frowned as his stomach continued to growl. Silently he went to the bathroom, ignoring Sam as he followed him. He cleaned the small cut on his forehead deciding it was nothing serious even though it throbbed. He just hoped it wouldn't bruise too bad.

"I'm sorry Dean," Sam sniffled, wiping his red nose with the back of his hand, looking a little disheveled and pathetic.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean sighed, annoyed.

"Want a band-aid?"

"Nah," Dean rustled his hair, "No point, 's not too bad at all."

"Kay."

"Anything good on TV?" Dean asked.

"Dunno," Sam shrugged, skipping back to the couch and flipping through the channels. He stopped it when he came across "The Goonies" and Dean sat down beside him and watched for a few minutes until the commercial came and he went back to the window to continue to watch for Dad. The storm was getting worse and cars raced by, once in a while a car would pull into the motel parking lot but not one of them was the impala and for every car that pulled into the lot that wasn't the one he was looking for, his heart sank further and further.

_Come on Dad, where are you? I don't know what to do._

He snaked his arm across his restless belly, pressed his aching forehead against the cool window, keeping watch. He worked to control his breathing as worry and indecision, combined with his hunger, weakness and exhaustion and the throbbing in his head put him on edge. He felt his control slipping and all he wanted to do was cry, scream, and punch something, _anything_. He was just a kid for crying out loud! He didn't know what to do if Dad didn't come back. If he didn't come back tonight or tomorrow morning, then what? Sure there was enough for Sammy to eat tomorrow morning, but what about him? What about later on?

They needed help, but who could they trust? They didn't know anyone, they were at a truck stop motel in the middle of some small nothing town. And Dean knew that Dad only rented the room for a month. What if they got kicked out before Dad came back? What if someone found out they were fending for themselves and called Child Protection Services? They'd separate them for sure and it would get Dad in serious trouble.

But he couldn't let Sammy know how scared he was, how knee deep in shit they really were, how he was so hungry he felt like he'd fall over and how after tomorrow morning, Sammy wouldn't have anything to eat either.

He had exactly $5.37 in his pocket, and that would only go so far. He shifted his gaze to the tall street signs for the 7 Eleven across the highway and then glanced at Sammy who was wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue as he watched the movie. He wondered how much he could buy with five dollars and some change. Enough for tomorrow he supposed.

A commercial came on and Sam climbed off the couch and joined his brother as a loud crack of thunder shook the motel and the lights flickered on and off before turning on again causing Sammy to jump. Even Dean jumped a little.

"Dean? Are you OK?" he asked softly, noticing the tired and worn look on his brother's face, wondering why he was sitting at the window for most of the evening.

"Yeah, just watching the storm," Dean replied, trying to keep his voice even. "What's up kiddo?"

"I'm hungry," he whined.

"But you just ate!" Dean exclaimed, sounding harsher than he intended because his stomach was doing somersaults in his belly, growling like a tiger and making his hands shake and his head swim. He felt that way so Sammy would have enough to eat and keep from starving and now he was complaining about being hungry!? He felt his cheeks grow hot from anger at how unfair it was and for a moment wished that he could be the little brother for a while so he could pass the responsibility onto him. He was tired of having so much responsibility thrust upon him and being expected to know what to do when he didn't really have much of a clue.

"But I'm still hungry," he whimpered.

"Well too bad!" he snapped, instantly regretting it but lacking the energy to do anything about it when he saw Sammy's reaction to his outburst as his eyes widened in shock and disappointment.

Pouting, Sammy ran back to his spot on the couch and folded his arms, watching the movie with a scowl on his face.

Dean buried his face in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed the cut on his head, feeling a small bump there. He huffed in frustration and looked out the window again. After an impressive lightning display it looked as though the storm was tapering off and the rain was falling in a light drizzle. He looked at the 7 Eleven again, thought of Sammy still being hungry and how poorly he reacted and his own growling stomach. He didn't know how much longer he could go without eating anything but moldy bread and Sammy's leftovers, "Hey Sammy?"

"Yeah?" he replied shortly, still miffed by Dean's outburst.

"I'm going to 7 Eleven, will you be OK while I'm gone?"

"Can I come?"

"You can't go outside Sammy," Dean said, "You're sick remember?"

"I feel better now," Sammy shrugged.

"Yeah well you're not going out in this weather."

"Fine," he huffed, pouting for a second before he suddenly perked up, "Can you get us some popcorn? And maybe some pop?"

"We'll see," Dean said, _Depends on how much I can stretch five bucks._

"Please?"

"Sammy I don't know, I mean I don't have a lot of money," Dean admitted, "but I'll see what I can do, OK?"

He sighed, resignedly and nodded, "OK."

"Remember when I'm gone, stay in the room, don't answer the phone and don't answer the door for anyone but me, OK?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Dean promised, hating the idea of leaving Sammy alone and unprotected, but he wouldn't be gone long. He'd be OK by himself and besides, it wasn't like Dean had much of a choice. They needed food and he couldn't take Sammy with him because of his cold. Sure, Sammy was feeling better, but he still had a lingering cough sometimes, and a bit of the sniffles, and Dean was afraid that Sammy would get sick again and that it would be worse than before.

Dean put on his jacket, grabbed his backpack and opened the door, frowning at the light but steady rainfall. The storm had calmed down considerably, having moved past them, but now it was starting to get dark and it was cold. He supposed he could wait until morning, when the weather was better but he needed to get out, get some air, and get some food. He was on edge, and if he didn't take some course of action he thought he would scream.

Sammy was still hungry, a half a can of spaghetti-o's wasn't enough, and Dean was starving to the point where he was tempted to dig through the dumpster out behind the diner next door to get some grub. Maybe with the last of their cash he could find something that would satisfy them both, even if it was just for a little while. He could figure out what to do beyond that in the morning.

It took about ten minutes to cross the overpass and reach the 7 Eleven and by the time he got there he was soaked through and through and shivering. He sniffled once the warm air from inside hit him and he groaned, hoping he didn't catch Sammy's cold. That was the last thing they needed but if he was being completely honest with himself, he was starting to feel lousy and not just from hunger.

There was no one else in the convenience store other than a teenage girl at the cash counter and a teenage boy wearing a school sports jacket keeping her company. Dean made a disgusted face at their flirting and wandered up and down the aisles looking for something cheap and satisfying for them to eat.

He grabbed a carton of milk, figuring it would be better than pop to keep their stomach's satisfied and a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread because that he could make last a few days. There wasn't enough left over for popcorn though but he thought he might have enough for candy instead.

His stomach growled again and he blinked back a small wave of lightheadedness.

With a sigh he looked at the girl at the counter who wasn't paying him any heed--she was too busy flirting with the guy. He cocked his head, glancing at some of the canned foods, like Campbell's soup, Chef Boyardee, canned fruits and stuff and the temptation called to him. He put his backpack on the floor, standing up to peek over the shelves at the cashier and then crouching low again to the floor. Neither teenager was paying any attention to him, they wouldn't notice if he…

Biting his lip he opened up his pack and as quietly as he could he stuffed his backpack with food. He knew it was wrong to steal, but he figured it was worse if they starved to death. They were desperate. He peeked around the corner to make sure no one was looking. They weren't. Heart pounding in his chest with adrenaline he breathed a small sigh of relief and closed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he went into the candy isle, grabbed a small pack of peanut M&M's and went to the counter to pay for it and the milk, bread and eggs.

His backpack was feeling heavy, even though he tried not to go overboard with stuff, so he grunted a little as he shifted his weight to reach into his pocket for what was left of their funds.

The teenage boy looked at him suspiciously as the girl rang in his purchase. "Hey, that looks heavy kid."

"Nah," Dean shrugged with a grin, "It's not heavy at all."

"Looked almost empty when you came in," he pressed.

_Shit._ "Nope. Full of books and stuff."

"I think you're trying to get a five fingered discount," he accused with a sneer.

"No, I'm not. Honest."

The girl gave him a dirty look, "You stealing from me kid?"

The boy grabbed his arm, "Hey!" Dean shouted in protest, "Let me go!" But even as he fought his grip the boy yanked on the zipper of his backpack and opened it. The contents spilled out of his bag.

"You little shit!" the boy hissed, shoving Dean hard against the counter.

"I'm sorry!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I'm sorry!" He grabbed the bag of groceries he bought fair and square, "I'll go."

"You better scram you snot-nosed kid, and don't come back!" the girl exclaimed.

Dean nodded fervently and started out the door, "Yes ma'am, sorry."

But the teenage boy wouldn't let it go. He grabbed his arm again and Dean tried to lash out, using the defense moves Dad taught him but the teenager was much bigger than him and according to his school jacket was on both the football and wrestling team. Dean was just a scrawny kid who was half his size and weak from hunger so even though he had impressive fighting skills, the teenager managed to pin him to the glass door in no time. Dean grunted as his back made a harsh impact with the door handle and it pressed painfully into his back as the older boy held him there.

"You think you can get away with stealing from my girl you little ass-wipe?"

"Steve, let it go," the girl said, "He said he's sorry…"

"No," Steve shushed her twisting Dean's arm violently behind his back and then wrapping his arm around the kid's throat in a chokehold, "this kid needs to learn that it's wrong to steal."

"Please…" Dean whispered breathlessly, struggling to breathe.

"Didn't your mommy teach you anything?"

"He's just a kid!"

"Let me… go!"

"How would you like it if I stole from you?"

"Steve!"

"I wouldn't like it," Dean choked out weakly, feeling tears well in his eyes and his cheeks flush with embarrassment, fear and lack of air.

"Steve! Let him go!"

"Shut up Julia!" Steve turned bent down and leaned close to his face, "We don't like kids who steal here. You know what we do to kids who steal?"

Without letting Dean go, he opened the door and roughly shoved him outside, hard enough to cause him to fall onto the pavement, landing on his meager groceries. The teenager followed him outside and kicked him in the stomach while he was down and Dean curled into himself in pain.

"Let it go Steve! He's just a kid!" Julia snapped, following them outside, "You have no right to beat up a little kid!"

"Scram you little shithead," Steve hissed, "before we call the cops!"

Dean nodded and grabbed his stuff and ran, moving in the opposite direction of the hotel in case Steve decided to follow him or the police came and wanted to know which direction he ran off to. He'd backtrack later, once he was sure he wasn't being followed. The last thing he needed was the police catching him, then they'd call CPS for sure which would be worse than going hungry another night.

Meanwhile Steve and Julia watched him go and once he was out of sight Julia punched her boyfriend in the shoulder, angrily.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You asshole," she pouted, "I know the kid was wrong but you took it way too far! Pick on someone your own size!" She bent down to pick up the stuff Dean had tried to swipe. It wasn't the usual stuff kids his age tried to steal, like baseball cards, trashy magazines, comic books and candy, instead the pale, scrawny looking kid with a cut on his forehead had packed his bag with canned food. Soup, pasta, creamed corn, mixed fruit… what kid would try to steal that stuff unless he really needed it?

"Ah, come on Julia, taught the little snot-nosed punk a lesson didn't it? And saved you from getting into trouble with your boss," Steve shrugged.

"Yeah but… I don't know, I think that kid was desperate," Julia said thoughtfully, now that her anger at the kid for trying to steal and at Steve for the way he handled the situation subsided, she found herself worrying about him and wondering what kind of situation he was in.

-

Meanwhile the rain began to fall heavily again and the storm began to act up once more and shaking and shivering Dean found cover in a playground, climbing onto a platform with orange plastic slides and large orange tubes to crawl through. He took shelter in one of the orange cylinders, and looked in his bag of groceries. He slammed his fist harshly into the hard orange plastic behind him and cursed loudly when he saw that most of the eggs broke when he fell on them, the milk was leaking and the bread was squished and soggy from the milk seeping through a tear in the package.

"Shit!" he cursed loudly, angrily, banging the back of his head against the inside of the cylinder.

And then he broke down and sobbed. He sat there and cried like a baby, even as he inwardly scolded himself for acting like one when he should be focusing on finding a plan B for their problem. Lightning struck all around, thunder rolled, shaking the playground equipment, the rain hammered down heavily, the wind howled and Dean, cold, starving and exhausted, aching all over and feeling dizzy and nauseous continued to cry wishing that Dad would return, hoping and praying that he was all right, hoping it was car trouble or another hunt that was keeping him away for so long instead of what he feared but dared not voice.

_Please Dad, come back. I don't know what to do._

TBC

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A/N Thank you so much for reading, now please let me know what you think, good or bad I need feedback. I'm a review junkie and I need my fix.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Sorry but I don't know when I'll be able to update again after this. I injured my arm a couple of weeks ago and it's left me in a sling, out of work and wondering how I'm going to pay rent this month, let alone fund my trip to the Vancouver Supernatural convention in August - at this rate, I'm worried I might not get to go. It's frustrating and discouraging. Anyway, I've discovered typing one handed is a pain in the arse and incredibly slow going so until my arm is better, updates will be even more sporadic than normal. The only reason why I'm able to post this now is because it was almost finished when I posted chapter one so I only had to tweak it a bit. And for those who are reading "Lean On Me", the next chapter of that story is almost done as well so hopefully I'll be able to update it within the next week or so, injury or no injury.

I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed this so far. I'm sorry I haven't replied but they all mean a lot to me. Every one has made my day that much brighter so thank you so much!

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Chapter Two

Dean wasn't sure how long he sat there in the playground sobbing before he slowly started to calm down and curled into himself, pulling his wet jacket closed as he shivered and shook from emotion and the cold. He sneezed and coughed a couple of times, feeling his eyes slide shut in weakness and exhaustion. Dean groaned pitifully, dreading the thought that he caught Sammy's cold but now almost certain that he had. He couldn't afford to get sick, how could he take care of Sammy and figure out how to deal with this mess if he was sick?

He wiped at his eyes and as soon as the raining eased off into a light drizzle, he willed himself to move. Sammy was probably going crazy with worry and he figured that the coast was clear and it was safe to head back by now. He grabbed the useless groceries, figuring he'd save what he could and made his way back to the motel.

The walk took about twenty minutes since he had run in the opposite direction and once he reached the motel he searched the parking lot expectantly, looking for the impala. It wasn't there of course, but Dean had been hopeful. The entire walk he had prayed that Dad would return, but he should've known God wouldn't answer his prayers. He was a liar and a thief after all so why would God bother?

Wearily and with shaking hands he knocked the secret knock and waited for Sam to answer. He had to do it several times before Sammy finally opened the door. Sammy's eyes were red and puffy as though he too had been crying, "Dean! Where were you? I was scared and the storm got real bad again and the lights went out for a little while and I was so scared and I didn't know where you were or when you'd come back and I was 'fraid something happened to you and I'd be all alone and when's daddy coming back?"

"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean said quietly, "I don't know when dad's coming back, but I'm here now, I'm OK and I'm sorry I took so long. I got caught in the storm."

Sam wrapped his arms tightly around him and Dean winced as the action awakened pain in his back, probably from where his back made contact with the door handle at the 7 Eleven. "Why'd you have to go out in it anyway?"

"Because you're hungry we needed food and I thought the storm was over," Dean replied honestly, shivering slightly as he stifled a cough.

"Did you get the popcorn?" Sammy asked, brightening a bit, not noticing the misery in Dean's face, the misery that Dean hid well.

"Didn't have enough money," he sighed, "I got milk, eggs and bread and some M&M's to share."

Sam made a face, "I hate eggs!"

"Yeah well don't worry, I think I broke them all when I fell," Dean griped bitterly as he made his way to the little kitchenette.

"You fell? Are you OK?" Sammy asked, noticing for the first time the mud on his jeans and a tear in his jacket sleeve.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, but I don't know about the food." He opened the carton of eggs and was relieved to see that seven of them were still intact and the rest he figured he could put into a bowl, pick out the eggshells and make scrambled eggs with them. "I can make scrambled eggs if you're still hungry."

"But I want popcorn!"

"Well too bad, we don't have any popcorn!" Dean snapped back, matching his little brother's whiny tone, momentarily losing his control of his temper. Damn he was so tired and hungry! If it were up to him, Sammy would have all the popcorn he wanted but it just wasn't possible, didn't Sammy see that?

"I hate scrambled eggs!"

"Tough," Dean retorted harshly, "because that's all we have."

"You're mean!"

"Oh knock it off Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes and waved him off dismissively, reeling his temper back in. Sammy was just a little kid, how could he understand what Dean was dealing with? The fact that he didn't meant Dean was doing his job and despite the unfairness of it all, he was glad for that. Dean had his innocence torn away from him when he was four, but that didn't mean Sammy had to suffer the same loss. He'd protect and preserve Sammy's innocence as long as he possibly could.

He took off his wet and torn jacket, throwing over the chair and wincing as the general aches and pains in his body revealed themselves. He was sure he pulled something in his shoulder when that stupid jerk twisted his arm, and his abdomen felt tender from where he kicked him, he wouldn't be surprised if his back was bruised from being shoved against the door handle, his head throbbed thanks to Sammy and he was fairly certain he scraped his elbow, but didn't have the energy to look.

He picked out all the eggshells he could find and dumped the contents of the broken eggs into a bowl, considered cooking it for himself, but suddenly felt too cold and too tired and achy to care that he was hungry. Ironically, he had lost his appetite, despite the fact he had been starving. So instead of getting out the skillet, he covered the bowl and put it in the fridge with a defeated sigh.

Turning back to Sammy Dean saw he was sitting on the couch, pouting. "Sorry Sammy," he said softly, "all I can give you right now is eggs or toast. Want some toast?"

"I'm not hungry," he huffed.

"That's not what you said earlier," Dean pointed out.

"So! I'm not anymore," Sammy replied.

"Well you're having scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow whether you like it or not. We have ketchup, so I think you'll be fine. And then for lunch you're having your leftover spaghetti-o's…"

"Again?" Sammy waved his arms in defeat.

"Sorry kiddo, that's all we've got," Dean rustled his hair and Sammy pushed him away indignantly. Dean coughed into his shoulder and sniffled, "Well since you're not hungry anymore, I'm going to take a shower and when I get out, I want you to be ready for bed, OK?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Sammy mumbled grudgingly.

"_OK_?"

"Sure thing _Dad_," he huffed.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Dude, it's already past your bedtime and dad would seriously have my hide if he knew that you stayed up too late."

Sammy sighed, his ornery tone was absent when he said softly, "But he's not here." There was fear and longing in his big hazel eyes and it made Dean's heart melt.

"I know, but please? Do it for me?" Dean was both pleading and apologetic.

Caving in to the pathetic look on his big brother's face, Sammy nodded, his long mop of brown hair flopping with the motion. Dean wasn't looking so good; he looked tired so he decided to give him a break.

Dean grinned, grabbed his pajamas and retreated into the bathroom. When he caught a glimpse of his reflection, he frowned at the bruise forming on his forehead around the cut and probed the tender area. He took off his damp clothes, still shivering from the cold and twisted to look at his back in the mirror and just as he suspected, there was a nice bruise forming on his back and that stupid teenager left marks when he grabbed his arm. He was a mess.

Climbing into the nice hot shower Dean's nose tickled and he sneezed a couple of times and groaned bitterly now that he could no longer deny that he had definitely caught Sammy's cold. He shouldn't have been surprised considering their close quarters and the fact that Dean was living off of whatever Sammy left on his plate or in his bowl or whatever.

He felt chilled to the core, and even under the heat of the water he shivered as he let the water soothe his achy body. But as much as he wanted to stay under the steady flow of steaming water until it was no longer hot, he cut the shower short, needing to get back to Sammy to tuck him in. It was way past his bedtime. Not only that but he regretted leaving his little brother alone for so long when he went to the store. Not one of his best ideas and all he got out of it were some useless groceries, some bruises, and a little brother who had been scared because he was gone for a lot longer than expected. He shouldn't have left in the first place, but what else could he have done?

Bearing a weariness too heavy for a boy of ten years old, Dean turned off the shower and quickly dried off and changed into his pajamas so he could take care of Sammy.

Sammy was dressed for bed when Dean got out, but he was sitting on the couch watching more TV. Dean rolled his eyes with a slight smirk at the weird position Sammy was sitting in with his legs up over the back of the couch and his body twisted to lie on his back. Sammy coughed a couple of times, and then wiped his nose on his sleeve and Dean shook his head, grabbed the cough syrup and a spoon.

"Guess what time it is," Dean announced in a singsong voice. There was a wicked grin on his face as he held the syrup and spoon and waved them around Sammy's head.

Turning to face him, Sammy's eyes widened in horror, "No! Please don't make me take that icky stuff again! I feel better!"

"Yeah but you still have that cough at night and it'll keep you up," Dean argued, "Worse, it'll keep _me_ up!" It didn't actually bother Dean that Sammy's cold was keeping him up, he didn't mind waking up to soothe Sammy until his cough calmed down and he went back to sleep. The truth was, Dean hardly slept anyway, especially in the last couple of days. He was just too worried about Dad, about Sammy and even himself to sleep.

"Please Dean, don't make me take that stuff!"

"Compromise," Dean stated, "I'll give you a cough candy, but if you wake up coughing, you're getting the syrup."

"Deal!" Sammy beamed.

"Go brush your teeth."

They both brushed their teeth at the same time, Sammy proudly showing off his loose tooth, and Dean making a big deal out of it, (because losing your baby teeth was a big deal after all) as he rinsed his mouth and tried not to sneeze.

It didn't quite work, and as Sammy spit out his toothpaste he said, "Bless you!" and after he rinsed, "You OK? Maybe _you_ need to take some of that icky cough medicine." He seemed mighty pleased to see that the tables had turned on that one.

Dean laughed, "Nah, I'm good."

Sammy rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Seriously kiddo, I just got caught in the rain today, I am fine. _You_ on the other hand are still getting over that cold."

Right on cue, Sammy began to cough and Dean rubbed his back gently.

"Wait here, I'll be right back."

Dean disappeared to get the package of cough drops. He grabbed one for Sammy and one for himself. His throat was beginning to feel dry and hoped that would be enough to stop himself from catching a full blown cold, but with their luck, he doubted it. He already caught the cold, the best he could hope for now was that it wouldn't get worse and would go away quickly.

He gave Sammy the cough drop and tucked him into bed, reading him a few more pages of "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe". At the moment it was the only book they had between the two of them, Dad found it at a yard sale and Dean decided that together he and Sammy would make their way through it.

They reached his favorite part of the book, where Peter rescues Susan from the wolf. As he read, he taught Sammy a few new words and told him that once they finished, they'd read it again only next time Sammy would read the story to Dean. "Don't worry, I'll still help you with the big words," he reassured him. He was proud because already Sammy was becoming an impressive reader. He certainly caught on a lot quicker than Dean ever did.

Since they were on Dean's favorite chapter, he read through the whole section, even though it made his throat hurt. It was Sammy's favorite part too. By the time Aslan told Peter to always clean his sword, Dean's voice was hoarse and he had to stop to cough a few times. Just as he was about to excuse himself, he realized that Sammy had fallen asleep.

_Not tired huh?_ He smirked, tucking the blankets around his little brother affectionately. At his touch, Sammy unconsciously snuggled into his pillow, snoring softly as his congested sinuses forced him to breathe through his mouth. He watched his little brother sleep for a few moments, his lips quirked in an almost content grin but once he was absolutely certain Sammy was fast asleep that smile faded.

Biting his lip with worry he grabbed the blanket from his bed and moved to his spot by the window, once again keeping vigil, waiting for Dad to come back. He coughed, sniffled and groaned as he wrapped himself up in the blanket and shivered, feeling downright awful and wishing that Mom was with them.

About a month before the fire that took her, Dean remembered getting really sick. He didn't remember much about how he felt, just that it had hurt to breathe. He vaguely recalled Mom and Dad talking about taking him to the ER, and he guessed that was what happened because he also had a vague memory of sleeping in a room that wasn't his, and being scared in that room, and people periodically coming in and out of that room. However the memory of that time that stuck above all else was of his mom.

Whether it was before or after his visit to the hospital he wasn't sure, but he could remember lying in his bed and he remembered mom rubbing his chest with vapor rub singing softly to him. He remembered the strong minty smell of the medicine, he remembered her gentle voice, and the soothing warmth that radiated from her as she scooped him in her arms and held him in her lap and rocked him gently. He remembered feeling happy, content and safe.

Mom always knew how to make him feel better when he was sick. Always. When Sammy got sick, he tried to emulate the sense of love, comfort and security that his mother gave him and pass it along to his little brother. He took pride in knowing that even when Dad was around, Sammy turned to Dean when he needed someone to make him feel better, whether it's because of a scraped knee, or a simple cold. But now that Dean caught the bug that Sammy had, he felt a twinge of jealousy mixed with the longing and sense of loss.

Shivering he wrapped himself in the blanket, sniffled, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, wiped it off onto his pajama bottoms and then rested his head against the cool window. He felt a tickle in his throat and broke out into a coughing fit as he watched for Dad, his eyes darting behind him to makes sure he didn't wake Sammy.

Satisfied that Sammy was still asleep, Dean huddled into his blanket, found a position on the chair that served to be comfortable (or as comfortable as a hard plastic chair could get) and still provided him with a view out the window while keeping Sammy in his line of sight.

The worry seeped deep into his bones, and as tired as Dean was, he couldn't sleep. If Dad didn't come back soon, they were screwed. The incident at the 7 Eleven scared him shitless, and he mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. What bothered him even more was that as it replayed in his mind he noted his mistakes because he feared that in the next day or two he'd have little choice but to try again. Sammy going hungry scared him more than getting roughed up by teenagers. But what if, assuming there would have to be a next time, he got caught again? But not by teenagers, but adults who would call the police?

He'd cross that bridge if he came to it, he just would have to not get caught—that was all there was to it. They needed to eat, after all and Dean was running out of options.

He sneezed and it burned his throat and chest. Burrowing into his blankets Dean felt his eyes well with tears as the misery he was feeling overwhelmed him. He was tired, hungry, he hurt and he longed for his mother to hold him, wrap her arms around him and make him feel better, he wished for his father to come through the door and save them, relieve him of his responsibilities, even if it was for just a little while. Dad should be back by now, it wasn't like him to be gone so long.

Something must've happened.

"Dad," he whispered his eyes watching the parking lot entrance even though he doubted that Dad would come at this point, "where are you?" He felt a teardrop escape his watery eyes and slide down his cheek.

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A/N Thanks for reading, now please review! Your comments mean the world to me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I realize I haven't updated in like, forever but I have not abandoned this story. My super long absence can be blamed on a crashed computer, loss of data and the fact that not only does my muse have ADD, but I haven't really even had a computer for a while and it's discouraging when you have to re-write a crapload of stuff. Hopefully the updates won't take as long from now on though.

This chapter is dedicated to Lia Walker and Moira4eku who both sent me a PM of encouragement to continue. I'm sorry if I never got back to you (just getting on the internet over the last several months has been difficult) but I promise that it meant a lot. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this and to everyone who might still be interested in reading after all this time. Again, I'm sorry for taking so long to update.

Well without further ado, here's the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter Three

It was the sudden, uncontrollable urge to cough that woke him up the first time. It started as a scratchy, niggling feeling in his throat that tickled when he breathed but when he subconsciously tried to clear it, he broke out into a violent coughing fit that sent him doubling over and falling out of the chair.

He landed with a heavy thud and it awakened an array of aches and pains that came from falling asleep awkwardly on a chair and getting roughed up by some stupid teenager but all that was overshadowed by the deep rattling cough in his chest that burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes.

"Dean?" came the whispered groan from Sammy's bed.

"G'back to sleep Sammy," Dean choked out, inhaling deeply to catch his breath. He coughed a couple of more times before he felt like he had it finally under control.

"You OK?"

"M' fine."

"Your voice sounds funny."

Dean sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, "I'm good. Just looks like I caught your cold," he coughed again, "no big deal. Now go back to sleep."

There was no answer and after a few seconds Dean decided that Sammy fell back to sleep, something Dean was looking forward to doing himself. He pushed himself off the floor and stretched stiff muscles with a soft groan. His head felt heavy and he sniffled as he slowly gathered his blanket into his arms. He brushed his hand against his forehead, feeling hot but unable to tell if he had a fever. He certainly felt feverish, and groggy. He took one last glance outside, coughing once into his sleeve before he shuffled back to his bed in defeat. Dad wasn't coming back. Not tonight anyway.

_Maybe not ever._ He thought pessimistically before he shook his head to push the thought away. Dad was coming back. He _had _to.

He wrapped himself into his blanket and unceremoniously collapsed onto his bed having every intention to pass out until morning. He was too tired to care about anything else but sleeping off his stupid cold.

Just as he found himself in a comfortable position and on the brink of drifting off into a healing sleep he broke into yet another coughing fit more painful than the last and that only eased up long enough for him to sneeze painfully. The deep wet coughs began to bring up phlegm and he stumbled out of bed and raced into the bathroom to spit it out but then his gag reflexes kicked in and he only ended up purging himself of the meagre contents of his stomach.

Tears filled his eyes as the uncontrollable action burned his already tender throat, and when he was done he sagged to the floor, and leaned against the bathtub wall. He whimpered softly in discomfort and despair. This was more than just a cold and if it was it was a bad one. He couldn't afford to get really sick, not when Sammy was depending on him. _No, I can't get sick, not like this, not now._

"Dean? You OK in there?" Sammy asked, knocking on the door.

"Go…away Sam," he choked out.

"You sound real bad Dean!" Sam insisted.

Dean coughed again and spit in the toilet before he replied, "Just caught your cold Sammy I'm…" he gagged, feeling his stomach muscles clench, "I'm fine." He grimaced at the whimper in his voice.

"Want a cough candy?" Sam offered through the door.

A weak smile crossed Dean's face as he sank further to the floor, hoping that the worst was already over.

"I have the cough candies," Sammy announced persistently, "can I give you one? You want one? It'll help."

"Yeah," Dean replied hoarsely, he cleared his throat, "Sure Sammy that'd be good."

Carefully Sammy opened the door and stepped inside, "Gross," he exclaimed catching a glimpse inside the toilet.

Dean rolled his eyes weakly and flushed the toilet. He wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and glanced wearily at his little brother, "Yeah well, your face is gross."

Instead of whining at the insult or coming up with a retort of his own Sammy knelt beside him and brushed his fingers lightly against the cut on his forehead, "That looks bad," he commented.

Narrowing his eyes at his brother with a slight wince Dean shakily pulled himself to his feet and glanced in the mirror, groaning at the sight of the bruise. It was darker than before and the discoloration had spread to his eye giving him a decent shiner. "Looks worse than it feels," Dean cleared his throat again and spit in the sink.

"I'm sorry," Sammy whispered. He coughed faintly into his hand and then looked back up at Dean.

"Don't worry about it," Dean grinned, rustling his hair, "it was an accident."

Sam handed him the cough drop and Dean took it with a small smile.

"You take one too," Dean ordered. Sammy nodded and did as he was told. Dean rinsed his mouth with water, took a Tylenol and popped the cough drop in his mouth, "C'mon, let's get you back in bed. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"'s OK," Sammy sighed as he ran and jumped into bed, burying his face in the pillow before rolling over and looking at Dean who followed close behind but with much less energy. Sammy sucked loudly on his cough drop and muttered, "When do you think daddy will be back?"

Sleepily Dean tugged at Sammy's covers since the kid managed to tangle himself up in them and draped the blankets over his little brother properly, tucking the covers around him, "I'm not sure, squirt."

"I hope he'll gets back soon."

"Me too kiddo, me too."

"Do you think he's gonna bring us something?"

"I don't know Sammy, now go to sleep."

"I hope he brings us something."

Dean sighed and collapsed into his own bed with a sniffle, "Go to sleep Sammy."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Night."

"Night."

Groaning, Dean buried his face in his pillow and settled into the covers, pulling them over his head. He shivered slightly, feeling both uncomfortably hot and yet cold but slowly he started to relax to the point where he thought he could fall asleep. Sniffling he released a wheezy sigh and eased further under the covers, the pull of exhaustion welcoming him to oblivion. Just as he began to drift a voice cut through the silence from the other bed.

"Hey Dean?" Sammy whispered.

Irritated Dean growled, his voice muffled by the pillow and blanket, "What?"

"I hope you feel better tomorrow."

"Thanks," Dean couldn't help but smile at that. He sniffled and coughed, "Now please, go back to sleep."

"Kay. G'night."

Dean merely grunted his reply this time. He drifted in warm silence for awhile until he felt like he was floating, acutely aware of his wheezy breaths and Sammy's soft snores but nothing else. He focused on the monotonous rhythms and allowed them to lull him and tried not to think about anything else but sleep. Maybe if he got a good sleep he'd feel better in the morning and his head would be clearer and he might be able to figure out what to do about the food situation and everything else he needed to deal with.

Something bad had to have happened for Dad to be gone so long, and Dean needed to come up with a plan. He could stretch out the food he bought for a little while but by stretching it out to the limits would still mean Sam would feel hungry quickly. And Dean had barely eaten anything in days and now he had just puked it all up and being sick he probably needed to eat something though at the moment, despite his growling stomach the thought of food was making him queasy. _What are we going to do? Dad, we need you. Can't you at least call?_ Dean whimpered as he rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut in quiet panic and longing.

Tossing and turning Dean tried to get comfortable, but he felt hot and cold, his throat hurt, his body ached and he couldn't turn off his worry for even a few hours so he could sleep. _Maybe I'll try calling Bobby again, _he thought,_ maybe I dialled wrong before._ He tried to convince himself that that was the case, but he tried calling Bobby many times, and every time he got the same message: "_The number you have dialled is not in service. Please hang up and try your call again._"

The thought alone made him whimper softly into his pillow, feeling completely helpless, a feeling Dean never wanted to feel. Dad didn't raise him to be helpless and he was ashamed of himself for letting himself get that way. _So what are you going to do Dean? Are you just going to lie here feeling sorry for yourself? Or are you going to do something?_

His inner voice sounded kind of like Dad, and he whispered hoarsely as the heavy weight of exhaustion, hunger and sickness finally sought to claim him for the night, "No, sir."

_I 'll take care of it somehow, sir._

_-0-0-0-_

He could vaguely hear noises. Distant voices that seemed incredibly close yet so far away. And there was music, a dull, annoying rhythm with weird sounds to accompany it and a strangely familiar tune. It was strange and at first Dean thought maybe he was dreaming because it all sounded so tinny and unreal, muffled yet randomly clear. There was sporadic shouting and laughter, strange exaggerated distant voices. The music and the voices faded in and out, and he was vaguely aware of time passing and he thought maybe he should move, but there was a heavy weight draped over him, a suffocating heat cloaking him in a hazy fog.

Noise faded and he drifted in nothingness. Just heat and darkness and a feeling deep in his gut that there was something he should be doing, that something was wrong. There was something important he was forgetting and he knew he should be pushing his way through the haze of fevered sleep and get up, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He drifted. The distant noise reached his ears and faded. He was aware of movement around him, but he couldn't will himself to see what was going on.

Finally he could hear the soft sound of breathing.

He groaned softly. Felt more movement, a subtle shift.

He slipped back into the haze for a moment before he was suddenly, acutely aware of being watched.

Slowly he blinked his eyes open to find wide, hazel eyes looking owlishly back at him.

Leaning in close with his face inches from Dean's, Sammy was staring at him intently and it wasn't until Dean shifted in bed that he moved away from him, giving his big brother room. "Sammy?" he croaked, voice hoarse, "Wha—?" Trying to speak triggered a need to cough and he turned his head into his pillow to stifle it. He felt a small hand rub circles into his back as he rolled onto his stomach and rode out a nasty coughing fit.

"You sound bad," Sammy whispered as the coughs began to settle.

Silently Dean waved him off and pushed himself up into a sitting position and as he did the room tilted and he held out his hand for balance. He buried his face in his hands, groaning because everything hurt, especially where that stupid guy from the 7-Eleven got him. He could feel Sammy put his hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see his little brother watching him with worry. "I'm OK," he grinned wearily to reassure him.

Sammy frowned.

Dean looked around and saw bright sunshine peering through the cracks in the heavy motel room curtains, Sammy's blanket was on the couch and the TV was on, showing commercials for some stupid Barbie doll. He rubbed his eyes, "How long have you been up? What time is it?" He wasn't used to sleeping in later than Sammy since he was the one who usually got him out of bed.

"Afternoon. I've been up forever," he pointed to the TV, "been watchin' cartoons."

Dean nodded, recalling the strange noises and voices he had heard.

"I'm hungry," Sammy whined.

Stifling a groan Dean shifted around, placing his feet on the floor, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Well, you're sick, I thought you want to sleep," Sammy shrugged, "but now I'm hungry."

Frowning Dean nodded again, the motion triggering a dizzy spell and he swallowed, waiting for it to pass. Sensing his little brother watching him he forced out a tight smile and pushed himself up into a standing position.

"Can I have Fruit Loops?"

Dean tilted his head to give his little brother a funny look, "We don't have any Fruit Loops. And since when do you like Fruit Loops?" Once Dad bought the colourful cereal by mistake and Sammy whined about how much he hated them and refused to eat them. Finally Dad and Dean finished them off while Dad grudgingly bought Sammy a box of Lucky Charms—his favourite.

Sammy shrugged. If Dean had to guess he would've said that Sammy probably saw a commercial for them.

"They don't have the marshmallows you like," he pointed out.

"I know," Sammy replied.

"Well we don't have any. We don't have Lucky Charms either. You've got leftover Spaghetti-O's or scrambled eggs or toast."

"Yuck!"

"Sorry but it's…" he stopped to cough a few times, "all we have. If you're hungry, those are your choices."

Sammy frowned.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Until you decide what you…" he coughed, "want. I'm going back to bed." He unceremoniously flopped back into bed, burying his face in his pillow for a moment until a nasty coughing fit had him sit back up and double forward, choking into his hands as his eyes watered with tears of pain and strain. Everything hurt, and with every cough pain spiked in his bruised and weary muscles, just making it feel that much worse.

Sammy climbed in beside him and rubbed his back gently, small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Even though he felt like he was hacking up a lung, the comforting motion made it a little more bearable. When the spell passed, Dean collapsed rolling onto his side, away from Sammy who kept his hand on his brother's shoulder, "Dean? You OK?" he asked, his voice sounding timid and small.

"Y-yeah," he rasped, his voice hoarse. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhausted and sore. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move and he could feel tears well up in his eyes. Tears that had little to do with his latest coughing fit.

He sniffled and sneezed and the next thing he knew there was a roll of toilet paper in his face being held by his puppy dog-eyed little brother. He gave a little laugh/sob that he hoped sounded more like a laugh than a sob to Sammy and unravelled some of the paper to blow his nose. He closed his eyes and groaned as he tried to stave off the panic attack growing deep inside him. Everything was becoming more and more hopeless, and even lying down everything seemed to be spinning. How the heck was he supposed to look after Sammy now? There was barely enough food, no money, and now he was too sick to function.

"Where are you Dad?" he murmured miserably, quietly into the pillow as he tried not to cry. Worrying more and more that something awful happened to him. He needed to do something, and yet all he wanted to do now was sleep. Maybe if he slept, when he woke up everything would be OK again.

"What's that Dean?"

Dean looked up at Sammy who was still sitting beside him, "Nothing." He sniffed, glad that his cold was good for something, because Sammy didn't notice that the sniffle wasn't caused by his cold this time.

They sat in silence for a while except for the wheezy sound of Dean's breath. Dean lying on his side, back turned to Sammy who was sitting on the bed beside him, resting his hand on his sick brother's shoulder. Dean shivered slightly, feeling both suffocatingly hot, yet chilled to the bone at the same time. He figured he should get up and take something to bring his fever down but he couldn't bring himself to move, not even for Sammy.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice gently broke the silence and Dean cleared his throat and rolled over.

"Yeah?" he croaked.

"My tummy's growling." He wasn't whining like he did the day before, he said it as a statement of fact. But he also sounded so sad about it too and Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, reeling in his rogue emotions. It wasn't fair. His own empty stomach growled in response and he bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

Finally he nodded and with great effort he pushed himself back into a sitting position, twisting to put his feet on the floor. He paused there, resting his head in his hands and Sammy scooted beside him, "Can I have toast?" he asked.

Dean grinned, relieved that Sammy was finally asking for something he could deliver. "Sure." He started to stand up but faltered, pausing to cough into his shoulder. He rose to his feet, swaying with dizziness. When the vertigo passed, he moved into the kitchen area of the motel room, washed his hands, blew his dripping nose, washed his hands again and grabbed the bread from the fridge, putting a slice into the toaster.

"Do we have peanut butter?"

"Uh…" Dean opened the cupboard to look and saw the nearly empty jar. There wasn't much left, but he figured he could salvage enough for Sammy's toast, "Actually, yeah!" he nearly laughed at the small victory but instead smiled wearily at his brother with a half grin.

"YES!" Sammy cheered, "I like peanut butter sandwiches!"

Dean smiled and began scraping as much of it as he could until there was a decent sized clump on the knife. When the toast popped out of the toaster he coughed a couple of times into his shoulder and then spread it on the toast, proudly handing it to Sammy. It wasn't much, but if it could satisfy Sammy's hunger _and_ make him happy, Dean was happy and was filled with a new confidence that maybe he could somehow find a way to get them out of this mess.

That boost in confidence quickly wavered however when he turned too quickly. Suddenly the room was spinning and he had to grasp the counter for support. Another coughing fit erupted from his throat as he watched Sammy head back to the couch and then pause to look at him with concern. He smiled as he choked, waving him off weakly, trying not to let Sammy worry. Sammy put his plate on the table and jumped on Dean's bed crawling to the opposite side and grabbed the cough candies that were sitting on the nightstand between the two beds. He kind of rolled across Dean's bed again and then ran up to his brother, handing him one.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean grinned. He swayed where he stood as heat and chills wracked his aching body. It was beginning to take too much effort just to remain standing and the mere act of breathing was slowly becoming a chore.

"Dean?" Sammy placed his hand on Dean's arm. Dean winced when Sammy clutched at the bruises that were there and Sammy let go as though he knew about the bruises hidden under his shirt. But as soon as he let go, Dean suddenly grasped him for support, "Are you OK?"

Dean nodded but staggered wordlessly to the couch and collapsed, breaking into a coughing fit that only brought up more phlegm. With nowhere to spit it out he swallowed and gagged some more, coughing so hard that it was a challenge to draw in any sort of breath between the wet, ragged coughs. When it was over he struggled to breathe, pulling in shallow wheezy gasps. His chest hurt with the strain of trying to breathe when not enough air could get through and he felt his eyes water from the effort.

"I think we should call Daddy, tell him to come back," Sammy's voice was shaky and high pitched and Dean knew he had his little brother freaked. Truth was he was a little freaked himself.

Dean forced out a cough, hoping to clear his congested airways. He shook his head, unable to speak, but even if he could, he couldn't bear to have to tell him that he can't. He can't call Dad. He whimpered at the thought because he had no idea when (or if) Dad would come back. And being as sick as he was…

Sammy put his had on Dean's forehead. He was too little to be able to identify a mild fever, but even he could tell that Dean's temperature was much higher than it was supposed to be. "But Dean, you're sick!"

"I…know," he gasped, "but…" he coughed again, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan that exploded into another cough. "C-can't…" he admitted weakly.

"But we need him!"

Dean could feel the spell slowly begin to pass and he forced out another cough, and while he was breathless, the act of breathing started to get a little easier but the episode wore him out and he sank into the couch. "We'll be fine, Sammy. I…I promise."

_Dad trusts me to look after you Sammy, I'm not going to let you down, I promise._

He weakly pushed himself up into a sitting position, finding it a little easier to breathe that way and smiled reassuringly at his brother. Sammy frowned and sat down on the opposite side of the couch and began to eat his toast, watching his big brother warily.

"I promise," he reiterated, forcing his voice to sound as strong and confident as he could manage.

Wiping weakly at his moist eyes he suppressed the urge to sob, instead he closed his eyes and rested his head on the armrest of the couch, exhausted. The way things were going, the way he was feeling, he wasn't sure at the moment if he could keep that promise.

* * *

A/N Sorry there wasn't much action here, but the plot should be picking up soon. Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Your comments are always so encouraging. I promise to try and update much, much faster this time, now that I have a computer again.


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